Person With Interest
by Sam R. Lou
Summary: A new number, a new job- another ordinary day for Harold Finch. Is it? As everything spirals down into one weird situation into another, why are all the good-looking people suddenly interested on the recluse? Rated M just to be safe.
1. The Machine

**Author's Note**

This story is set against the background of the award-winning popular TV Drama Series _Person of Interest_ created by Jonathan Nolan; developed and produced by Jonathan Nolan, JJ Abrams and company- all of whom are not me.

This is a work of fiction. Any similarities among real persons, living or dead; real cases; real locales; or real life events are purely coincidental.

**Disclaimer**

The background story, the main characters, and the cover graphics depicted and included in this story are not owned by the author. These are owned by the respective creators, developers, writers, and producers of the show _Person of Interest_.

However, the original characters and the original situations all characters find themselves in are created and written by the author for recreational purposes only.

No profit is gained in printing, publishing, or reproducing this fan-based story. In fact, the writer's financial status is not affected by this even for a bit- neither positively or negatively. On this note, please do not sue the storywriter. She is relatively poor. Do not make her plead like Darren Cris did after his _Potter Musical_ circus- she is honestly bad at it.

* * *

**Prologue**

**The Machine**

It was year 2012 at the city of New York where streets are watched by security cameras, a middle-aged man with round framed glasses had just finished his breakfast at a local diner. And as he limped out to the exit, he melancholically whispered to himself, _"You are being watched."_

He turned his head from left to right awkwardly- not fully turning it, obviously because of a neck injury. He sighed. He was overly paranoid, but with good reason. After this, he continued to limp away to the streets, blending in with the crowd.

"_The government has a secret system, a machine that spies on you every hour of every day." _

And, as if on cue, another man, tall with greying hair and in a simple black suit, walked out of the café from across the street. Apparently, he was following the silent speaker.

"_I know because I built it."_

The man with glasses halted, checked his mobile phone, and continued on his way without missing the camera spying on him from the traffic post.

"_I designed the machine to detect acts of terror,"_ the crippled man continued his quiet tirade fully aware of his personal stalker, _"but it sees everything…"_

"_Violent crimes involving ordinary people,"_ he stopped in front of a phone booth. It rang and he answered it. Afterwards, he looked ahead of him, at the commercial building's glass panels, to see the reflection of the man following him. There, he noticed him look away towards a store and crossed the street, trying not to get his cover blown.

He said to his shadow, _"People like you. Crimes the government considered irrelevant."_

He hanged up the phone and limped again, but this time, hastier.

"_They wouldn't act, so I decided I would."_

At a corner, he turned and then disappeared. The tall guy pursuing him reeled and calmly threw the New York Times he was pretending to read.

The pursuer then walked towards another direction- far away from where his target disappeared to. It seemed he gave up the chase. But in the end, both men arrived at the same destination- a supposedly non-existent abandoned library.

Inside, the crippled man, seated on a chair, in front of many LCD computer monitors, ignored the arrival of his stalker. The said stalker, however, greeted him a good day and offered him his favorite tea.

"_But I needed a partner, someone with the skills to intervene."_

A few words were exchanged between them including "progress on our new number", "who wants to kill our number", and the most often used "we have a new number". Afterwards, the tall man left while the other continued_, "Hunted by the authorities, we work in secret."_

At one of the screens, one footage featuring police cars speeding towards a hotel lobby caught the recluse's attention. He zoomed in the image of one of the drivers to see its face clearer. The driver was a black woman with straight hair flowing to her shoulders. She seemed menacing with her lips thinned and her big eyes set to the direction ahead.

The license plate number was very clear- the car was owned by no other than Detective Joss Carter.

He closed the video window.

"_You'll never find us, but victim or perpetrator; if your number's up..."_

He turned off his computer and limped away from the desk into a room. He then opened a cabinet, pulled out an insanely expensive grey suit and headed to the bathroom. After dressing up, he took out a wallet, yet again very expensive, with a handsome amount of cash and bank cards from credit cards to debit cards to atm cards; and finally a plane ticket disclosing that Christopher Lammergeyer arrived to New York earlier this morning from Chicago. He put the wallet in his grey jacket's inside pocket but decided to put the plane ticket on its front pocket. Indiscretion was the suitable front in this particular operation.

Finally, he emerged out into the city streets sporting his new suit with his gold Swiss watch and gold framed eyeglasses, unbuttoned his grey jacket, and rode a pseudo black limousine.

"_We'll find you."_


	2. Nom de Guerre

**Chapter I**

**Nom De Guerre**

In New York City, year 2012, police sirens were heard around a five-star hotel when a valet- tall, dark and handsome with greying hair and covert brown eyes, caught Detective Joss Carter's attention. He was standing on the huge lobby, near the glass doors, as if looking for guests to help with their luggage. But in truth, the detective knew he was surveying the place for the nearest escape route. Why he was still staying around the perimeter instead of dashing out of there two minutes ago was beyond her.

It was more than two minutes ago when Detective Carter received an anonymous 911 call about the notorious and slippery child trafficker named Jerry Nickels, 47 years old, and a licensed physician. According to the source, he was to conduct a transaction at a luxury hotel in 301 Park Avenue between 49th and 50th streets. The tip, obviously sent to her, came from no other than the vigilante known as the tall-guy-in-a-suit. How he knew about the operation and the fact that she and other NYPD Task Force were two minutes away from there were a mystery to her. And so, trusting that the tip was genuine, she and her men went to the hotel, overheard a gunshot report from the accounted floor phoned to the lobby, entered Room 421, confirmed the illegal operation after desperate cries from inside the doors, secured the children; and finally, unarmed and handcuffed the culprits. Then, other police cars took off with their criminal in tow while she stayed behind to ask more questions. All was well. A happy ending was for those poor children but a bad one was for the grown-ups who should have known better than to do illegal business.

Speaking of illegal business, that tall-guy-in-a-suit, John Reese, was really getting to her nerves. And to her sarcastic surprise, the devil was right there in the flesh. He was not there near the doors earlier. If he was, she should have noticed him wearing that flashy red vest.

"What are you still doing here?" Carter asked the undercover vigilante as soon as she neared him and made sure no one was to eavesdrop on them.

"Nice doing business with you, too, Detective," John quietly replied with a charming smile. "Aren't you glad that you could finally send the bastard Jerry Nickels behind bars? I know I am."

"I'm glad, too, John. But what would make me happier is if you finally tell me how the hell you know about all these sort of stuff. And while you are on it, include how you knew that my men and I are nearby."

"In time, detective. Besides, a bug with a GPS Locator here and there would not hurt."

"You bugged the NYPD?! Of course, you did. I shouldn't have been surprised. You and your partner, and your methods… You are never concerned about the legal system!"

"Oh, we are very much concerned of them. That is why we are very wary of them." Another man joined them and their conversation. He was wearing gold round-framed glasses, an expensive Jeff Banks grey suit (complete with its matching grey slacks and vest, a pink pinstriped dress shirt, and metallic pink tie), gold Swiss watch, shiny black leather shoes; and with him, a leather briefcase. He looked at John with certitude. Afterwards, he awkwardly turned his head to eye the limousine that he had just emerged from, and then turned again to face the two, only to receive a sullen face from the strict investigator.

"Good day to you, too, Detective Carter," he sarcastically greeted.

The detective wanted to greet him, too, just to humor him, but she never did figure out who this man was. All of her background digging on him always pointed toward dead ends- and she thought that a middle-aged crippled man with glasses would be easy to trace in New York City. She spotted a plane ticket in his jacket's breast pocket and noted the name Christopher Lammergeyer written on it. But, she supposed that the name was just another one of his many aliases- or else he would not have them in plain sight. On the other hand, every now and again, she had caught John call him Mr. Finch. Therefore, as far as she was concerned, he was Mr. Finch for the time being.

She noticed them exchange looks and then, John picked up the two suitcases behind Finch and carried them towards the reception desk. Before following their mutual friend, Finch curtly dismissed her with as much courtesy he could present given their complex situation. Then, she left the hotel to wrap up her latest arrests, with the very strong guess that the duo had a new job to work on and a new person to help. She just hoped that as much as possible, no bodies would be reported to her desk.

* * *

Inside the hotel room of Waldorf-Astoria New York, John Reese put down the two heavy suitcases he had been carrying for his boss, Harold Finch, inside the ridiculously huge walk-in closet. His billionaire employer had checked in under an alias of Christopher Lammergeyer, a big-time Realty Company Investor from Boston, therefore entitling him to an Executive Suite on the upper floor. The reason for the hotel arrangement was still unclear for him, but he was sure that they were there because of a new number from the Machine. He was going to ask Finch about it when he saw him took off his coat, hanged it on the coat hanger across the king size bed, and sat down on the thick mattress to check his phone. He had his lips pursed as he studied the gadget on his hand.

"You look great today, Harold," he told the recluse with an air of tease.

"Thank you. I do love dressing up," the other casually replied without looking away from his phone. The disinterest made John want to tease him more. And so, he took off his red vest, unbuttoned the first two of his undershirt's buttons, walked over to the billionaire, leaned forward, placed both hands to incline on the bed, and whispered to the billionaire's ear, "And I would really love undressing you down. Or do you prefer it if I tied myself at the bed post first?"

The statement made Harold finally look up with big surprised eyes and he stared long and hard at him. The ex-operative just stared back at him and raised his eyebrows in inquiry. _Hell, he tied him on the bed post the second time they met!_

Finally, the older one sighed.

"I do not know what provoked that jest but it is very crude of you, Mr. Reese. I expected more demureness from a man of subtlety if you ever did bid revenge for that one _incident_…"

"Speak for yourself, Mr. Finesse. On our second date, you brought me to a hotel room then tied me to a bed post. Now, in another hotel, you unclothed and placed yourself on the bed, and looked almost good enough to eat. If that was not a form of provocation, I do not know what is." John cheekily smiled at his boss.

"We have a new number," the other man replied crossly and took his laptop from the briefcase he put on the bedside table and started to type. Meanwhile, the ex-operative walked back to the closet, procured a black blazer on his size, wore it, and sat on the chair nearby.

"Her name is Kathryn Knowing, 28 years old, had a messy divorce with Arthur Wiles last 2010, and currently works as a real estate agent. She used to live in Boston but moved to New York last year after signing a contract with Helix Real Estate Agency. She loves to go to the Caribbean for the holidays and Yoga- at least that is what she said on her Facebook account. She is very friendly- 2256 facebook friends and even accepted her ex's friend request last thanksgiving so, no more hard feelings from that perspective."

"Does she have any personal enemy? Perhaps from the company she works for?"

"No one, so it seems." He looked up to John. "That is why you are going to her office to find out more about her business affairs and her colleagues."

"And as for you…?"

"I arranged to meet her at the hotel diner for lunch to discuss my buying of one of the houses she is selling. Her agency is located at this building, by the way."

They exchanged brief knowing glances. John inwardly sighed. _And so the arrangement…_

"Perhaps, I should also find out if she has any threats coming from her ex-husband we don't know about. Wait a minute…"

Harold typed some more from his computer and then paused apprehensively. John noticed this and stood up.

"I think I know why her number came up- she is under the witness protection of the US Marshals."

* * *

At the hotel diner, at exactly 1:04 pm, Kathryn Knowing arrived at the scene and asked for her lunch reservation. She was beautiful- a friendly face surrounded by long straight red hair. She wore a cerulean Floral Lace Victoria dress that reached above her knees, showing a bit of her porcelain complexion. The waiter happily directed her towards a private table at the middle back section of the restaurant. Not more than a minute later, her client arrived as well. She extended her hands to give him a handshake and then they both seated themselves appreciating the wonderful ambiance.

"_It must be nice being you, Finch- eating fine food here and there with our person of interest. How come you never took me to fancy restaurants in any of _our_ dates?"_ A male voice teased through the man's earpiece.

John had decided to listen to the meeting via phone call and so, this was his way of letting his boss know. The boss, though, being a complete recluse, did not like him snooping. Since he could not express his discomfort in words in front of Knowing, he just quietly cleared his throat.

"It is nice to meet you, Mr. Lammergeyer. I am Kathryn Knowing and I will be your agent," she directly told him and smiled. She then tapped Finch's hands from across her. It was a friendly gesture, but Harold thought otherwise. And so did Reese.

"_I could already tell she _likes_ you and it is just the first three minutes of your first date. I cannot wait until she finds out you are engaged, Lover boy."_

"Likewise," Finch answered them both. And then, to play his role, he continued. "Please, Ms. Knowing, let us cut through the chase. I would really love to seal this offer immediately. I have a lot of cash to spare but so little time, henceforth I want your quick exposition. What are you offering?"

"Why don't I just show you?" she leaned down the table, her cleavage showing despite the intricate laces, and brushed the toe of her black pumps up and down his legs. He felt more than noticed the gesture and saw her grin. In that moment, he was very thankful that he booked a private table instead of the open, in-your-face one. _People would definitely notice his flushed face and think of curious things like power, money, and sex._

"Why don't we leave this restaurant right now, drive to the house, and check if the place suits your _exquisite_ _taste_? Does that sound appealing to you, Mr. Lammergeyer?" she tantalized.

"_My, my, a rendezvous with your date without finishing the first meal- that was quick. It almost doesn't sound like you at all, Mr. Lammergeyer. Or does it?"_ Reese joshed him.

"Yes," he replied, unsure which part of the questions he responded positively. "My limousine is waiting outside. Shall we?" He stood up, followed by Knowing. And, they left their table and the hotel, went inside the car, and drove off towards Château des Lapin, Manhattan.

* * *

At the drive, Harold Finch alias Christopher Lammergeyer, kept sneaking glances towards his company's direction. They sat side by side, instead of across each other, which Harold thought only natural for some people discussing an expensive business affair. Too bad he was not _some people_.

Of course, as perceptive as Kathryn Knowing was, she noticed the stolen glances and crossed her legs to show off her long creamy legs. Her purpose was to humor him, or unsettle him, or both, Harold never knew. But, those legs were just _too _fine- like Hummel dolls portraying an angel or goddess or supermodel, whichever. It made the same effect. It made him even _more_ uncomfortable. Suddenly, he wished the confined seats of the limousine were bigger- or he could have just said no to the excursion in the first place, maybe.

"I like your tie," she said as they passed through a massive iron gate into a street filled with more trees than those they just already passed. If he knew better, Harold would think that most rich people preferred to live in the countryside especially surrounded by the glamorous most sought-after tree of all- the Big Apple. _Good thing he knew better then._

"Thank you. I like your dress."

She uncrossed her legs and hovered nearer. Her breath tickled his cheeks as she whispered, "I like your pants, too."

"I like your… shoes," he replied in a hushed voice, confused. "Why are we whispering?"

"I don't know. Why do people whisper, other than when they are doing something naughty?"

Harold stared and stared. He fought off the flush creeping from behind his ears. _See, this is the reason why he never was good with people, or socializing, or conversations with people in person instead of hiding behind information circuits and syllogisms._

He coughed and grimaced, trying to seem offended by… something she said. "What are you saying?"

"Oh, here we are! This is Château des Lapin!" she leaped off the car and urged him to follow. Apparently, the wooded area they passed was the residence's orchard. They were past the broad long lawns, the sparkling fountain, and the garden full of flowers and herbs. In front of them, there stood the modest looking house, but massive in its space and silver and platinum decorum. A mural greeted them at the receiving area of the villa and it showed the vast expanse of the property including the vineyard at the back, which was twice as spacious as the whole property itself. He might as well have bought a country house with its island in France.

"Very French," he said to no one in particular.

"Well, the past owners were French and so as the people before them, and up to the original owners themselves. Contessa Maria Louisa of Burdock inherited this land from her parents and decided to build a villa with a big beautiful vineyard. A couple of renovations later, it became Château des Lapin- because the Contessa kept a bunny as a beloved pet."

And there, he saw what must be the rabbit that inspired the villa's name. It looked fluffy, but not important enough to have roused such grandeur- Contessa Maria Louisa must have been a very lonely bachelorette. _Castle of the Rabbit? Please…_

"Interesting history," he eyed the vineyard warily. "How about you, Ms. Knowing, do you have a history to share?"

She laughed. "Oh? Now you want to know about me? And there I thought you were only interested on the house."

Harold blushed and she laughed sweetly again. "Let us come in. I am sure the vignoble will fascinate you as well."

And then they sat inside the greenhouse, drank wine- from the Chateau's own winery, and before Harold realized, they had more than enough wine to drink since the second bottle dripped its last drop. They were laughing the whole time, too- because of some joke, some not-so-innocent piece of information about the house, etc. Right then, Harold decided to ask what he came to know in the first place.

"Are you married, Kathryn?"

"I was. Why do you ask?

"Oh, just curious," he laughed.

"Oh?" she laughed, too.

"How was it?"

"How was what?"

"Your marriage, your divorce- was he a nice man?"

"Why ask?"

"Again, just curious."

"Well, we are friends now. Just friends. Do you want to be friends, Christopher?"

"Sure, friends, why not," he paused so he could swallow his tipsiness. "Are you sure?"

"Of course, I am sure. Why would I ask you to be friends with me if I am not sure?" She smiled sincerely, then. That was when Harold opted to show his seriousness about the conversation. _She seemed like a nice person that she could possibly be the victim rather than the perpetrator, but experience said otherwise._

Harold chose his next words carefully. "I mean, are you sure you are friends with your ex-husband? No hard feelings at all?"

"You know what? Let us settle that bargain…"

And they talked about the house and the billing information- 15.6 million dollars less Christopher Lammergeyer's bank money, and Château des Lapin is his. The transaction went very smoothly, but every time "Christopher" asked Kathryn personal questions, she thoughtfully dismissed them.

* * *

At a neighborhood somewhere in Manhattan, near Queensboro Bridge, a well-dressed man, Christopher Lammergeyer, limped his way to a black SUV car parked around the corner of the street. Inside, having seated beside his driver, he opened his laptop and started typing.

"How was your date with Ms. Knowing?" the driver, aka John Reese, asked him.

"She seems very evasive when I breached the topic about her relationship with her ex-husband. I think she is beyond doubt hiding something."

"Don't they always, Finch?"

_They always do._

"I cannot find anything significant from her office. As far as they knew, she is a simple, loyal hardworking divorcee with great social skills."

_And by significant he meant worthy of being killed or killing for. If it is not power, money or passion, why else would she be a target?_

"That is why I am tapping her phone to get a list of all of her incoming and outgoing calls from the time of her divorce until recently." Harold Finch, aka Christopher Lammergeyer, successfully typed his way around Knowing's phone line and critically studied her records. "She seemed to be calling one number repeatedly for two months but without response until… Yesterday afternoon, the number called her. Here is their conversation."

_ Hello, James?_

_ This is James' wife. Who are you and why do you keep calling my husband?_

_ I am sorry, but will you tell James to call me immediately? This is about work. Tell him I need to talk to him._

_ Listen, lady. If you are who I think you are, I will sue your bitchy ass to the next century. Stay away from MY husband or your dead. Got it?_

"Sounds like motive to me," John uttered. "I think James and his wife will have a chat with yours truly."

"But first, we need to know where they live," Harold advised him and typed again.

"Apparently, James Grover's house on Ohio burned six weeks ago and he and his wife disappeared together with any government records they have under their aliases."

"Alias? Are they under Witness Protection, as well?"

"Yes. Original names are James Hardwick, Jr. and Elisa Jones Hardwick. They testified against Rodrigo Maine about a drug cartel in Memphis August last year."

"Same time Knowing testified against Gerardo Maine- same case, same place. This is unlikely to be a coincidence."

"Hmmm."

"What is it, Finch?"

"The Hardwicks are dead. Bellevue Hospital just filed their death certificates a few minutes ago. Records indicate they died of massive organ failure but before that, they were shot, and afterwards burned. But, who killed them? Why bother burning them up?"

"The most burning question is, what are they doing in New York, so close to Knowing?"

"I guess we are going to have to ask that to Detective Carter."

Harold eyed his employee since he knew John and the detective were still on a rough patch about handling their bad guys. John just raised his eyebrows and shrugged. That was when the recluse noticed that the neighbor was also eyeing their vehicle anxiously.

"Code Red, Mr. Reese. The neighbor does not seem too pleased having an unfamiliar car parked across their home. The husband is already taking action. He is walking towards us." Harold tensed.

"Stay calm, Finch, we wouldn't want to freak the neighbors out. Just ride on anything I say."

"And that would be?"

"An innocent reason why we are here…"

"I doubt if there is anything innocent about why two strange men in a car would want to park in a random neighborhood."

"Well, let us make it not so innocent then."

Before Harold could ask what the ex-op meant, his lips were already assaulted by soft lips not his own, and with tongue, no less. His face was trapped between two strong hands capable of disarming trained field officers without breaking a sweat. He had no choice but to stay still and hope that the awkward experience would soon be over.

And, soon enough, the prying neighbor tapped the car window next to the recluse. It made him jump not only out of fright and embarrassment, but also of relief that he does not have to be harassed any longer. John, though, lingered around Harold's personal space for longer than necessary- even sneaking more short pecks to him.

"Hey. Hey!" the man fumed.

Yes? Got any problem, sir?" John responded after pulling down the window.

"Take that," the neighbor pointed to the two of them, "somewhere else. There are children around here. Find a hotel or something." Then, he stepped back trying to get away from them. Obviously, what the two did, or what he thought they were doing the entire time, repulsed him.

The recluse wanted to correct him- to tell him they were not romancing each other or it was a one-way fling. That he was not, in any way, involved with the man next to him. But, for reasons unknown to him, words left him. And so, the ex-op took advantage of his silence and chided the neighbor.

"We will." And he just had to add in the end, "Homophobe." Then, he drove the car away.

"What happened to not freaking the neighbors out?" Harold dryly remarked after finally finding his voice, although five minutes too late.

"How am I supposed to know that he was a homophobe, Finch?" John replied coolly, but with a hint of mirth in his eyes. The recluse knew he was laughing his head off at him deep inside, even though he was presenting a poker face. This irritated him more than anything else.

"If it makes you feel better, I made out with Zoe last night."

"You did more than that last night, Mr. Reese."

"You were snooping? You naughty boy…"

"What does it have to do with our current predicament?!"

"Well, in a way, you made out with lovely Zoe through me."

Silence.

"And she was really good at kissing, too. I mean it. Her tongue is…" Harold cut off John by finally pulling up his hands to cover the other's mouth instead of just giving him his most terrible glare. But, after three minutes on the drive, Harold reluctantly let go.

"Do not, under any circumstances, do that again, Mr. Reese. I have more than enough traumatic experiences involving you already," he starkly said and then, he paused. "And I already hate coffee."

"I promise not to have one the next time."

_Next time?!_

Harold groaned his protest on that comeback while they sped along towards the library.


	3. Espionage

**Chapter II**

Espionage

Inside a court room restroom in Memphis, way back August 2011, Kathryn Knowing stood by the mirror fixing her silver leather jacket. Another woman, looking like a lawyer, came in the restroom and pulled out a lipstick from her metallic purse.

"What do you think, pink or red?" she asked Kathryn.

"I think pink looks refreshing on your skin tone." She replied.

The other woman paused for a fraction of a second and put away the lipstick. She took out a gun and pointed it at Kathryn. But before she could aim it properly, Kathryn already stole it and pointed it to her instead.

"Take this as a message to headquarters: cover is NOT blown until I say so. I am taking that deal with the D.A. and hide away with the US Marshals. I did what I had to do."

She threw the gun to the trash bin and walked out the door. The security cameras caught her walking towards the court room to testify against Gerardo Maine.

Back in the restroom, the woman made a phone call.

"This is Jones. Yeah, Snow, I got Knowing. Tell Hardwick to meet me at the court room. We are implementing Plan B."

She then took off her blazer, wore that pink lipstick, and walked out into the same court room and testified against Rodrigo Maine with James Hardwick.

* * *

In Midtown Manhattan, John Reese walked inside an apartment building and subtlety broke inside. He took in every detail of the house- the furniture, the photographs, its order, etc., and proceeded towards an office. He sat down the chair and opened the drawers to see what useful things were inside. He discovered a framed photograph of two people on a beach. They were Kathryn Knowing and James Hardwick Jr. aka Arthur Wiles on their wedding day. The man had glasses and birdlike facial features that he almost looked like his lonesome boss- _they even had the same smile_. He put it back. Afterwards, he opened her desktop computer and installed the hacking drive for Finch to take advantage of later. His phone rang.

"_Mr. Reese. Found anything yet?"_ it was Finch.

"I found her wedding photo inside her desk but no other photos of Hardwick anywhere else." He looked around and noted the pink curtains, pink couch, and the cherry blossoms pattern of the wallpaper. "Except inside my wallet."

"_You know Hardwick?"_ the other man asked astonished.

"No, but I do know _you_," he teased him. _If his boss would ask why he had a photo of him in his wallet, he would never tell._

"_We do not look that much alike."_

"The resemblance _is_ quite striking"

The older man huffed as the computer beeped and the drive installation was finished.

"You got eyes and ears here, Finch. Anything else you want? Dinner, perhaps? It is getting late." _He was feeling a bit flirtatious today. It must be Zoe's effect on him._

"_Don't get lost for a change," _theolder man sighed.

John chuckled. "I cannot help it if my phone keeps getting smashed. I think the bad guys have something against you, Harold."

"_Not more than they do for you."_

"With good reasons." The main door's lock just clicked. Someone else wanted to break in Knowing's apartment. John reeled and hoisted his gun. He walked towards the door, his back on the wall, and ready for a surprise attack.

"I think we have a visitor."

* * *

In a neighborhood at Midtown Manhattan, Harold Finch was having a cup of tea and an untouched cupcake topped with a ridiculous amount of swirling cream and candied peaches at the local Frozen Yogurt Café. He was never a fan of frozen yogurt hence the tea. The cupcake, however, was an accident- apparently it was the café's Free Cupcake Day and he could not convince the waitress not to leave one on his table. It was also their Free Toppings-For-Every-Succeeding-Fill-Of-Frozen-Yogurt Day but he managed to get a pass since he did not order a first fill.

He would never willingly go inside this kind of food establishment- he was more of a conventional guy who loves to eat traditional food. But, when he decided to exploit the fact that Arthur Wiles, otherwise known as James Hardwick Jr., looked like him, he had to pull off the tactic Friendly-Attitude-And-Familiarity-Equals-More-Information with success. _However, he would never admit firsthand to Mr. Reese that they really do look alike- a lot._

Part one of his operation: Meet-And-Greet, was a complete letdown and he could not get away with another failure. So, trusting his notes on how Mr. Reese handles his reconnaissance, he went over Knowing's routines and found that she frequented this café. Then, he planned to approach Knowing, act surprise on the "coincidence", and have another go at the "friendly chat".

If all else would fail, there was always Plan B. His information retrieval and social abilities could only get him as far as the observable truths, anyway. When another waitress passed him by without another glance, he made a phone call.

"Detective Carter," he greeted after the third ring.

"_You,"_ she paused and continued with a low voice, _"Lost your friend again?"_

"I know where he is." He looked at the apartment building across the street through the glass walls. That building was where Kathryn Knowing lives. John was probably taking care of the house's would-be burglar and succeeding. He was not sure. John hanged up the phone on him before he could ask. He could hack it, sure, but it would be rude if he distracted him at that moment- _he could die_.

"Although, I could not say much about his well-being. Mr. Reese is kind of busy at the moment."

"_Is he making trouble again?"_ she snapped.

"No, he is trying to prevent it. And, if we really want to stop anything violent from happening, we need your help."

"_No, I am not cleaning up his mess,"_ she retorted.

"We need you for information this time."

There was a short silence.

"_I am listening."_

"Her name is Kathryn Knowing, 28 years old, divorcee, and a real estate agent for Helix Real Estate Agency. Also, we need her file from the US Marshals when she testified at the Maine case back on August last year."

"_That's it?"_

"No less."

"_Say hi to John for me- that is, if he lives another day."_

"I will pass him the message."

He hanged up the phone just in time for it to beep. John finally phoned him.

* * *

John waited for the door to swing open when he tackled the burglar into the ground and disarmed him. The man was taller than him and had broader shoulders. He was also wearing a ski mask over his head and hit John's jaw with it. John reeled back and the burglar took advantage of that instant to stand up and kick his gut. He was breathless. His gun flew far away to his side. The punches and kicks kept coming afterwards and the ex-agent avoided only half of them. Clearly, he was overpowered by his opponent on hand-to-hand combat and so, he ducked towards the ground, rolled over to where his gun was and shot the man.

He missed- the bullet digging deep inside the burglar's left thigh instead of his gut. The man cursed with thick Spanish accent. And then, he dashed towards the doors and had gone. John had tried to chase after him but the other tenants were already peeking out of their doors to check where the gunshot came from despite the silencer. So, he went back inside the apartment and inspected if they disturbed the place more than necessary- it turned out they did. And, Knowing was about to come home in five minutes tops. So, he phoned Finch.

"_Mr. Reese. Have you gotten rid of the burglar?"_

"Oh, I'm fine, Finch. Oh why, thank you for asking." He sarcastically greeted him back. _Damn, he hurt all over the place! Show some concern._

"_The phone traffic from that building got busy with 911 calls about a gunshot. You didn't get shot, did you?"_

"I shot _him_. Check hospital records around the perimeter for a 6'3" male with a gunshot wound on the left thigh- of Spanish descent, maybe. He cannot be that far from here- I didn't hear any cars leaving here."

"_If he is indeed Spanish, he might be one of Maine's men. I'll confirm Detective Carter's information about them as soon as she calls back. In the meantime, I will try and stall Knowing's arrival there as much as I can."_

"How would you manage?" he still wanted to ask as he started rearranging the dislocated furniture and eyed the bloodstains on the stark white carpet.

"_I have my ways."_ And not a second later, a female's voice sounded through the phone.

"_You look ridiculous drinking tea at a Frozen Yogurt shop."_

* * *

Kathryn Knowing had just fished her order of frozen yogurt with blueberry, peaches, and mixed nuts toppings- her usual order at her favorite Frozen Yogurt Café, when she noticed a well-dressed man drinking tea, of all things. She squinted a bit, trying to get a better look of the familiar stranger whilst pretending to search for a seat, which, she actually did need. Then, she settled that the man was, indeed, familiar- he was no other than Christopher Lammergeyer, millionaire extraordinaire from this afternoon's business meeting.

At first she thought Arthur- no, _James_, came back to haunt him about their unresolved past but, that was impossible since he died this morning. She got the call from Bellevue Hospital to confirm it. Ever since then, her entire day had been awkward: from grave news to haunting ghosts poised as a rich client to stealth interviews with one Mark Snow.

This second meeting with the so-called ghost of his ex might be a startling coincidence, or he was following her since her apartment building was just across the street. She was not sure but, paranoia was part of her ingrained training from her past job as a covert operative. The coincidences this day was just too overwhelming. And so, wearing her most charming smile, she walked towards him to ask.

"You look ridiculous drinking tea at a Frozen Yogurt shop."

He was startled, or at least he pretended to be, and hanged up the phone he was holding. He smiled back when she sat across him and hid away his gadget when the waitress- Anna, her favorite one, left a chocolate cupcake topped with pink icing and mixed berries at the table for her.

"I was just passing along this street when I suddenly felt parched. This is the only nearest café- and they do offer tea. What are you doing here?" he had the gall to look innocently at her when his lousy excuse just revealed that he was undeniably following her. _It turned out he was one of those clients that hangs around after the check was signed. Had she overdone the flirting this afternoon? Karma was such a bitch._

"Oh, I was also just passing by. But I did order their frozen yogurt- it is rude, you know." She eyed him with conviction. _Damn, he looked a lot like James._

"What is rude?" he asked nervously.

_Following me, stalking me while looking a lot like my dead ex-husband, creep,_ she thought but said, "Not ordering their specialty. It is bad for their business if a rich guy like you insults this humble establishment right on its face."

He was taken aback and cleared his throat. "I assure you, Ms. Knowing, it wasn't my intention."

"Please, call me Kathryn. We are friends now, remember?" _Okay_, she was leading him on with this attitude but she had to find out if he was a stalker, just a weird admirer, or one of the spies the agency sent to collect her. He did sound very concerned back at the chateau- as if she was in mortal danger that only he knew about. It was time for her to get straight to the point.

"What, exactly, brought you to this neighborhood, Christopher?"

He looked pensive for a while before he said, "Do you receive death threats from the Maine brothers?"

Shocked did not even begin to describe her. But, she presented a collected persona when she replied, "How did you know about that?"

"So, you do get threats."

"No, no threats from them. How did you find out about the case? It was supposed to be confidential information only the US Marshals or the FBI know. Are you an _agent_?"

"No, I am just a concerned citizen."

"Concerned citizens do not get_ that_ information easily. Are you a stalker?"

"No." he sternly answered, almost as if he was very offended by the label. His phone buzzed but he ignored it to frown at her. _Well, it was very offensive, to say the least._

"Are you one of Maine's enemies, then?"

"You could say that," another plain response. When the silence stretched into minutes and it seemed that Lammergeyer was not giving any further information, she sighed.

"What do you want from me?"

"Your safety, Kathryn."

"Am I in danger?"

"Yes."

"From what? Who?"

"That is what we are trying to find out."

"You _don't_ know?"

"Either Mr. Gerardo or Rodrigo Maine seems like suitable candidates as culprits. Do you have any more enemies besides them?"

"Not that I know about, no."

Silence again. _Was he serious?_

"What now?"

"We move you out from your apartment into a disclosed safe location. Whoever the culprits are, they planned the assault against you beforehand. It is only a matter of time before they take action."

He watched her with a grave expression- the same one James used to propose to her, and that was when she decided to give his words serious thought. She stood then. And, after she faced towards the waitress Anna to box their cupcakes she exclaimed, "What are we still sitting here for? My apartment's this way."

* * *

Inside the apartment building, John Reese was cleaning up a carpet with a cloth and that Instant Stain Remover he learned from his boss, Harold Finch. _And he thought his knowledge about these things from the CIA were convenient enough to solve anything._

"_Got any plans, Mr. Reese? I can't stall our arrival any further."_

"I am just finishing up here." He made a final wipe on the now bloodless carpet. "Make sure to say hi to Kathryn for me."

"_That window over there, at the fifth floor- that is my apartment," _he heard a woman's voice through the speaker.

Just then, a tall shadow was coming towards the pair outside. Harold noticed. And, when he squinted, he saw that it was a man with a ski mask over his face.

"_Uh, oh, Mr. Reese. I think our mysterious burglar decided to stay around and assail Ms. Knowing. Right now!"_ he whispered anxiously at the speaker phone.

"What?" John closed Knowing's computer and fixed the rest of her desk occupants the way he had found it. Then, he took all of his apparatus and sped towards the door.

"_A man in a ski mask is walking towards us with a gun." _The recluse grumbled. The masked man pointed his weapon at Knowing but Finch placed himself as a human shield for her. _"It's now or never, John."_

"Stay calm. I am coming." The chime of the elevator rang through the communication line.

As John emerged outside the apartment building, a gunshot was heard around the neighborhood. He ran.

* * *

Police sirens were ringing nonstop at the streets in Midtown Manhattan- a rare occasion at this part of the neighborhood. John Reese was running, he knew, and he was about to have a panic attack. But, as composed as he wanted to be at the moment, his boss was in mortal danger.

His main job was to protect or persecute the persons of interest whose social security numbers came up from the machine. That was the main reason why Finch hired him in the first place. But he made it his personal duty to protect the only person that still has faith in the goodness in him. Ever since the kidnapping incident, he never let Harold got out of his sight- he even asked Detective Lionel Fusco to stalk him regularly without fail. But, he just had his eyes turned and the recluse got himself into a gunpoint crisis. _Does he attract trouble that badly?_

As he neared the alley, the sirens reached a louder echo and there stood a blonde man in a brown coat and cheap suit. It was Detective Fusco. He held a handcuffed and unmasked guy on his right and a .45 gun on his left. Behind him, there stood Harold Finch with Kathryn Knowing and Detective Carter. The female detective saw him then, and returned to her conversation with Knowing. He crossed the distance as he mentally sighed in relief.

"We just responded to a 911 call from this address about a gunshot fired," the male detective started explaining without the ex-operative asking. John ignored him. But, he still continued.

"Everything is fine… this young lad just decided to…" But before Fusco could finish his sentence, John was already three steps away from Finch. He skipped the remaining distance and cupped the billionaire's face with one hand while skimming the rest of his body for visible injuries. _Better safe than sorry._

"Mr. Reese," Finch started. But, he had to see with his own eyes that he was alright physically if not emotionally- Finch do hate firearms and the trauma of his abduction, although lessened, still haunted him.

"I am fine," he continued his tirade then added with emphasis, "and so is Ms. Knowing. Detective Fusco came just in time to disarm the young man over there." He eyed the very tall teen held by the investigator.

"Moreover, I hacked the nearest hospitals and clinic's network connection around here and the burglar's description matched with a patient flagged for lack of identification- here are the coordinates."

And, out of nowhere, without second thoughts, John's soft lips caressed the billionaire's. Blame it on the libido or the moment of huge relief, but his lips were already sealed to the other man and he could not take back the time to undo it. Yet, before his boss could process the whole scenario, he felt him kiss back. And then, John pulled away as fast as he came near. His hands were tingling and a shiver was threatening to overcome his senses. And so, he stepped back and turned away. He was already walking away from the alley when the recluse came to.

"Where are you going?!"

"I am going after our mysterious burglar. Stay with Carter." He plainly said without looking back at them or even stopping. _Don't think about what your actions mean. If there was one important lesson he learned all these years, it was: thinking is dangerous._

"Fusco, take Ms. Knowing to the address I gave you immediately."

"What address?" the detective asked his advancing figure. But, the other man's phone later on buzzed and he read his text message. It was an address. He watched the blonde man with vehemence as if saying: _do it or you are dead._

"Oh," he uttered nervously. "I guess you are coming with me, Ms. Knowing. After you."

The two entered Fusco's car while the teenage thug rode with the police cars. Detective Carter, though, stayed put in order to guard the recluse. She offered the man a car ride but he shook his head and turned to look at John's retreating back.

"_What is your plan, Mr. Reese?"_ he heard Harold's voice through his earphone and slowly released the breath he did not know he was holding. _Stay calm. Things may have started to become awkward between them but at the end of the day, he was still his employer._

"Find out this man's connection with Knowing and if he works for Gerardo Maine."

"_Report your progress a.s.a.p.… and be careful."_ Maybe it was his imagination but he heard caution in his boss' voice mixed with many different emotions that he might actually had called it concern. _He must have imagined it then._

* * *

Outside Knowing's apartment, Detective Fusco was driving his car with Kathryn Knowing on his passenger seat. He passed by John Reese, the vigilante who took care of his promotion to NYPD. _Some promotion it was- they put him at mortal danger every day without pay!_

Before driving away, the detective developed a gut to ask his personal blackmailer about the incident earlier. So, he slowed down and slid down his car window to face him.

"So, you and Mr. Glasses…?" But, before he could finish his question, Reese glared at him with homicidal promise. This made him decide to abandon the interview and proceed to follow the other man's orders. "As I said, I am taking Ms. Knowing to the safe house."

"Be careful, Fusco. We would not want anything unfortunate to happen to Kathryn or it will be on your head." The man turned around, went inside a parked SUV and sped off.

As soon as he left, Fusco let out a breath and addressed the latest person in his custody, "Are you ready to leave ma'am?"

She was beautiful, he had to admit. And, she seemed really calm considering that she was just assaulted at gunpoint a few minutes ago. She was quietly brooding about something and he mentally berated himself for disturbing her thoughts. Yet, she faced him and smiled.

"Yes," she replied just before a gunshot was heard.

* * *

Along another street opposite Knowing's apartment building, Detective Joss Carter walked alongside one Harold Finch. She was here with her partner Detective Lionel Fusco to respond to a 911 call about a gunshot heard inside the building. But, instead of the long and frantic interviews with the tenants, they found the man with a hot lady being harassed by a guy with a gun. Fusco confronted and disarmed the thug while she consoled the victims. Their mutual friend John Reese arrived at the scene not another minute later and left again to find another assailant- apparently, someone break inside the woman's apartment beforehand thus the gunshot fired. Fusco was tasked with escorting Kathryn Knowing to a safe house while she was left to babysit John's _friend_.

She tried to be nice to him- offering the enigmatic recluse with a stiff gait a car ride. But, he blatantly refused saying he had a car waiting for him. _Bastard._

So, she then decided to walk with him onto the streets. Along the way, she could not help but look back at how the events turned out- the undeniable kiss between the ex-soldier and the recluse beside her was, so to speak, a shocker. And so, deciding to satisfy her curiosity to pry, she cornered the billionaire and asked him, "So, you and John…?"

"There is nothing going on, detective," he replied sternly.

"So the kiss was just a fragment of my imagination, then?" she frankly asked.

"I do not want to talk about it."

"Is that your decision about the matter or is that your way of dodging my questions?"

"Why do you have a lot of questions? As much as I am concerned, I never bothered with asking you about _your_ personal life, Detective Carter. So, I would really appreciate it if you would do the same to me." He snapped and limped with speed towards the street corner. She turned her head from side to side in disbelief.

"Goodbye, detective." He almost shouted to her and turned left after reaching the corner.

"Wait, John told you to stay with me!" She ran after him. But before the detective could cut off the man, he disappeared into the main street full of people. He was nowhere in sight. She cursed loudly. Just then, a gunshot was heard.

* * *

**Author's Notes**

**To Harley San Pedro**_- many thanks for lending me those books as reading materials. They influenced me on most parts of this story. However, they did not help me learn more words- if you noticed the word repetitions. I don't know if you ship these sorts of stories. I should have written a warning label. Anyway, I am changing the genre to Humor/Suspense, what do you think? Follow me on twitter!_

**To readers and would-be reviewers**- _I have bad taste on food, I know. And, I haven't had frozen yogurt so I do not know what would go well with it. So, do NOT, under any circumstances, mention it to any reviews. If you think my updates are slow, don't complain. My evil plot bunny only speaks to me in dreams- and it hasn't visited me for a while. So, for the updates of my other stories- blame evil plot bunny for not lending a helping hand._

_And, _**to that anonymous reviewer**_- thank you for giving the first review. If you would kindly introduce yourself, I would reward you with a chapter sneak peek._


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